Chapter 2: Bad Moon Rising

I comfort the robot until he calms down, which occurs in a matter of minutes, and then help him up to his paws. We stumble down the hallway in the darkness, moving as quickly as I could force the robot to move. He is still shaken up mentally and his emotions, if he truly possesses them, have been wracked and stretched beyond their limits. I manage to lead him through the shadows of the interior of our house, down the steep and innumerous marble stair steps of the staircase and through the house to our spacious and expensive kitchen.
Propping him up in his charge station, I promise him that he will be aright as long as he pretends to be functioning properly, as he was before tonight. I then assure hi that I would never bring him any harm and that I was his friend. Trusting me, the robot's eyelids shut and his body goes rigid as he deactivates. I leave him and the kitchen as I hear our automated garage door humming as it begins to close, a warm feeling now pulsating throughout my body, rippling from my excitedly-beating heart.
I rush back up to my room and listen to my parents come into the kitchen through the door that leads into the garage. They laugh and say things loudly, indicating the amount of alcohol that they consumed tonight. I then listen as they go into our large living room and then through the den and into their bedroom. Everything is silent then, leaving me alone with my thoughts. They flutter about like angry avians before settling down after a fifteen minute period, leaving only a warm, comforting sensation in my stomach which lulls me into deep sleep.

The next morning I awake feeling strangely good, my mind at ease and my depression and feelings of loneliness nonexistent. But as soon as my memory of the night before returns, I jump from my bed and rush down the hall towards the bathroom with a change of clean clothes in my hands.
As I shower, I compile my thoughts, which have taken off and have begun to buzz around above my brain like a thousand BF-109s, and formulate a game plan. The robot seemed to be terrified by the mere mentioning of my fathers name, so there obviously must be some history between the two, more than a mere Frankenstein-like creator-creation relationship.
His outburst of fear must have been triggered by something within his mind, like the freeing of a locked memory. I do not entirely understand why he is acting and speaking so much like a living fur, but, I intend to find out. My father is the obvious untapped reserve of knowledge, so he is going to be my first stop. I feel butterflies take flight in my stomach because of all the excitement and anticipation.
After my shower, I comb my short, brown headfur and throw on my usual ensemble consisting of a pair of long jeans, a black t-shirt with an image of an old car that I do not recognize printed on it, a pair of cheap sneakers and my usual amount of jewelry of one ring on my left middle finger and my favorite necklace hanging beneath my muzzle.
I decide to find the robot first as I know that it will make him happy to see me before going to locate my father. I round the banister at the bottom of the elegant marble staircase and then perk my ears up as sounds from throughout the house come flooding in. I can hear from the west side of the house the sound of a deep voice speaking loudly.
I know that it is my father in his home office, as his office is on the main floor, just beneath my room, talking to some executive about his next multimillion dollar account. From the kitchen, which is in the center of our home and connects to the foyer that I stand in, I hear the sound of water filling a large metal pot.
Knowing that mother has left for New York City sometime earlier this morning, it must be the robot filling a pot for lunch this afternoon or dinner this evening. Smiling, I begin towards the door leading into the kitchen, my pawsteps echoing off the high ceiling of the foyer as I stride across.
As I near the door, I hear the running water stop with the creaking of the metal handle. I step into the kitchen and look around for the robot. I spot him standing before the granite sink, lifting the metal drum from within the deep basin. I smile widely and then mosey into the wide, open room.
My eyes are flooded with light that streams through many large windows that look out into the rear veranda and patio and my eyelids immediately slap shut to protect my corneas. I groan quietly and then open my eyelids as my eyes finally fully adjust. I find the robot standing at the granite counter still, staring out of the open windows as if longing to be away from here.
He appears to me like a prisoner staring out onto a busy street in a bustling, exciting city that lies just beyond the steel bars that confined him to his cell. I know how he feels in many ways, feeling like I’m trapped within these four walls, the only time I am paroled is to transfer to another four walls and become entrapped there.
I frown and cock my head to the right, my ears tilting a bit and my eyebrows bending to the sides. Beginning forward, I walk quietly and calmly around an island that stands at the center of the kitchen and approach the robot. I step just beside him and then lift and rest the pads of my hands on the cold countertop, gaining his attention. I hear the mechanical muscles flex as he angles his muzzle up just a tad.
“I was afraid that you would never return.” I hear the robot say gently, his voice calm yet full of life. “The darkness frightened me to no end, but, you promised that you would return and that I would be alright. Thank you.”
I turn and look gently up into his eyes when he turns his head to face me, as he is nearly four inches taller than me, and see him returning the look. I am instantly much happier as his demeanor warms me. The robot turns and looks out across the French terrace and into the well-manicured garden and the just-trimmed lawn.
“I had another vision this morning as I cut the grass.” He says out of nowhere. “I saw a green lawn and a white picket fence and a reel lawnmower running near it. I remember seeing a mailbox with the numbers 3401 written on its side.”
“You have these visions often?” I ask him.
There is a long and awkward pause. I turn my head and look up towards him but do not see him turn his bright blue, robotic eyes back towards me. He continues to stare out onto the terrace, but, not as if he is ignoring me. His lips are tense and his eyes move about gently from side to side, indicating that he is deep in thought.
“Yes.” He finally says. “But these visions . . . they don’t seem like they’re going to happen. They feel like they already happened because they feel familiar and usually friendly. I feel like an unfinished puzzle and every time one of these visions occurs, it’s like there is another piece being set in place. It’s what led me to begin to play that piano and then to return to it a few hours later.”
“Do you think they may be memories?” I ask him, taking a shot deep in the dark.
The robot turns and looks to me, surprised by my question and showing it to me with his eyes open wide and his jaw ajar slightly.
“I do not see how they could possibly be memories.” He replies. “I have never experienced what I see and I do not believe that the visions are pre-loaded into my systems. But . . . they do feel . . . feel like I’ve experienced them before.”
He seems confused and conflicted by the whole thing.
“Well, what did you see when I said my father’s name last night?” I ask him.
He looks away from me, turning his gaze back out onto the peaceful lawn.
“I saw . . . I saw myself sitting in a room, strapped down to a chair. I . . . I was about to be killed by a fur with a needle in his hand. I cried out and screamed for mercy and suddenly he stopped. Another fur came into the room I was in and surveys me, grinning like he had just won a horrible bet. He then told me that I had a choice: to die for killing Henry or to submit to volunteering for an experiment funded and owned by a Mr. Thomas Burnett. I think I chose option B.”
“Who’s Henry?” I ask after a moments thought.
The robot shakes his head.
“I don’t know. I do know that I did kill him. But I don’t remember when, where or why. Actually, I’m not sure if I killed this Henry at all. I’m not sure if he was even real.” The robot says.
He leans forward and looks down into the sink. I cock my head to the side and then reach out and grab his arm. He lifts his head up and then smiles at me. He seems to enjoy the contact with a living fur.
“Hey, I was planning on speaking with my father. Maybe he can answer some questions for me. Maybe I can even learn your name. Why would he want to hide this kind of stuff? I mean, it isn’t like you were once a living fur once and something happened.” I say to comfort him.
He looks away and then looks up to the blue skies and white clouds above.
“I don’t know what to think or know. All I wish to know is what my name is and what these visions are. I feel like . . . like I was . . . I don’t know.” He says, closing his eyes.
He bows his head forward and gently tilts his head away from me. I am not sure what he was going to say, but, I put my hand upon his back and rub the metal plate there before I turn and leave him alone. I set my sights upon my father’s office and quickly march out of the kitchen and into the foyer once more.
I hear my sneakers squeak on the cherry floor as I scurry across them and enter the long corridor that leads through the west wing of our house and terminates at the large, oak door separating Father’s office from the rest of the house. Today it is slightly ajar and even from the end of the hallway, I can hear Father talking, almost yelling, to somebody over the videophone.
My pawsteps die when I transition into the carpeted hallway. The hallway that runs the length of this wing of our house which my father uses as his own, personal corporate office building is lined with expensive pieces of art ranging from antique vases from Classical Greece to Medieval English paintings hanging on the wall or displayed behind glass.
I pass many of them by, delegating no more than a bat of an eyelash to each piece of art before I pass them by, simply because I have looked them over a million times before. Stopping outside of Father’s office, I reach out and grasp the brass handle, but, before I push on the door, I stop and listen to Father speaking inside.
“I know, Judas, I’ve been keeping track of the AU-35 unit and am very proud to report that it is nearly 75% more efficient over the well-trained fur. It follows all orders to the T and does them promptly and correctly every time.” Father says with confidence.
I hear a strange silence and then somebody clear their throat, but, it sounds as if it is coming through the videophone in his office.
“Good. We’ve had several hundred thousand orders already coming in from all around the world and I’ll need to know if our prototype is fully functional with minimal glitches before I can confirm the orders and place the phone call to the Governor of California and several other judiciary and governmental figures throughout the country and, if orders are numerous enough, beyond to order all of the resources we would require to fulfill our orders.” The fur on the other end of the videophone says, his voice deep and commanding but with a touch of a darker character.
I hear Father clear his throat.
“Thank you, Judas, and I hope that you know what it is you are doing. I’ve stuck my neck out for you on this, accepting to fund your proposal . . . don’t let the guillotine’s blade fall on me.” Father finally says, breaking the silence.
I hear a loud chirp, indicating that the videophone conversation has ended. Raising my hand up from my waist, I curl it into a fist and then rap upon the heavy wooden barrier.
“Come in.” Father says, his voice sounding both welcoming and annoyed by the disturbance.
I push open the door and then look into Father’s office. Realizing that I have never once set paw inside my father’s office, I look about in awe of the spacious and luxurious room. Bookcases filled with old text books and videobooks line the walls and near the windows on the other side of the room sits a large computer, an extremely advanced one that I have never seen before.
A coffee table sits off center of the room on an expensive area rug from Afghanistan with two large, comfortable armchairs flanking its side. But, a large cherry desk that Father uses for business remains the focal point of the entire room. My father smiles at me, his hands clasped together behind his back as he stands businesslike in his suit behind his desk.
“Jessica, I’m surprised to see you here, interrupting my work. Usually it’s that robot ushering in another business partner.” Father says cheerily.
That’s true. Even though Father spends most of his time at his office in the city, when he’s home, his business partners come here to see him.
“I . . .” I begin, “I just wanted to talk to you about the robot.”
I only step a few feet inside his office, with my hands in front of me and my tail held still as a tree behind me. My father smiles seeing that I’ve brought up a topic that has been on his mind for probably six or seven months now.
“I just wanted to know what exactly you and your company designed and plan to produce him for.” I question.
“Well, the AU-series is just a prototype phase, but we plan to make androids like our servant to do just about everything that you can think of from housework to secretarial work.” He explains proudly, showing off his accomplishment.
“And so you completed that experimental programming software, the one that would make great strides in the computer world and change how we program computer forever?” I ask with eloquence and confidence. “The one that would make computers function more like the furkind brain?”
My father seems dumbfounded, leaning forward to put his hands down on the top of his desk, his jaw hanging open and his eyes glimmering with both admiration and a twinkle of fear.
“How did you know about the Magellan Project?” Father demands of me.
I smile and feel my whiskers twitch about on my face. I’ve backed him into a corner and I know it and, thankfully, he doesn’t.
“I remember you saying something about it to me in the limo the day that you were taking me to my last day of high school.” I explain.
That’s mostly true, but, I do keep tabs on what Father’s company is doing research and development on. Father grunts and then stands up straight again, regaining his previous businesslike appearance.
“Well,” he says, “no, we haven’t. But, we have solved that problem through different means. So the androids we plan to produce will be very much like furs and run on software that will make them able to do all, and I do mean all, the things that a living fur can do.”
“Even have emotions, free will and memories influenced by emotions?” I ask quickly, almost not letting a pause between the two comments.
My father is becoming weary of my prodding, frowning and glaring at me, obviously not enjoying the interrogation that I am putting him through.
“Our software will not allow the androids such freedoms, lest they refuse to do as we command them.” Father answers.
“Oh.” I say. “Well, I suppose that is a very big investment. It must cost a lot of money.”
“Jess, is there something wrong?” Father asks, cocking his head and looking at me worriedly, his previously angry appearance melting away. “Don’t you like the android? Do you believe that my investment will fail?”
“No, no!” I exclaim, shaking my head. “I really like him, it’s just . . . how long until you have to take him back to your company?”
“The test ends tomorrow and I shall take it back then.” He answers.
“Tomorrow?” I think loudly. “But, I can’t let him be taken away! I like him and I want to help him! But if he’s taken away and ultimately is destroyed . . . what was it he was trying to say? Oh, yeah, what if he was a living fur once? I have to know!”
“Will he be destroyed?” I suddenly blurt out.
My father gently smiles at me and shakes his head.
“Well, it’ll be permanently deactivated, but not destroyed. We still have to recover his programming to copy it for other androids.” Father answers.
I smile, faking a satisfied look, and then bow my head in fake appreciation to him answering all of my questions.
“Alright,” I say, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Jessica.” He says, concluding the conversation.
I turn on heel and march out of the office, keeping my pace slow and natural until I hear the automatic door-control slam shut the heavy oak door. Once the door is closed, I quicken my pace and rush towards the foyer, my pawsteps hushed by the carpeting on the floor.
I can’t let Father destroy the robot, I just cannot! I’ll do whatever it takes to save the robot, even if it means employing drastic measures. Father has left me with just one option left to save the robot, but, thankfully I have been planning on leaving this hellish place for years. Now I can finally put my secret escape plan into effect. All I need to know is of a place to go.